


Bewigged, Bothered and Bewildered

by the_dala



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Attempted Seduction, Comedy, F/M, First Kiss, Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 13:00:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3811438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_dala/pseuds/the_dala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack finds himself under a rather unusual breed of love spell.</p><p>(A Sparrington take on the BtVS episode "Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered")</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Note: If you've seen the episode you'll spot all the references, but it will still make sense if you haven't. There were too many pairings to tag, but it covers all the conventional PotC pairings as well as some that are...less so.
> 
> Originally published July 1st, 2004 - CoBP-compliant only.

“I’m beginning to think it’s never gonna happen,” said Jack Sparrow in a despairing voice. He was pacing naked from end to end of the little rented room, while the woman he’d employed for the hour sat on the bed and did up her dress.

She raised one dark eyebrow. “I must say, I never would have guessed you as the type to set his heart on true love.”

Jack shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. “Doesn’t seem farfetched when I’ve already found the ship on which to make my fortunes.” His eyes grew misty at the mention of his beloved vessel. The woman coughed politely to cover a snigger and Jack pretended he hadn’t heard her. She had caught his eye because of her glossy black hair and perfect caramel-colored skin, but he’d soon found himself entranced by the way she spoke, enunciating each word clearly but with an accent he couldn't place. Sometimes he caught a hint of French, sometimes Dutch or Haitian or Portugese. When asked where she was from, she would only smile mysteriously. She had told him to call her Marielle, but he suspected it was not her real name. He hadn’t pressed the issue. Many of the women working the streets of Tortuga had legitimate reasons to hide themselves.

“You compare a ship to a human lover,” said Marielle, “but though a ship can indeed rock you to sleep and shelter you in a storm, it cannot kiss your lips or laugh or press against you in the night.”

Jack flung out his hands. “Exactly, love! I’m Captain Jack Sparrow; why shouldn’t I want someone t’ put me above all else, binding heart and soul to me for all time? And vice versa, o’ course,” he added off the woman’s skeptical look.

She ran her fingers through her hair, smoothing out the tangles. “And have you been searching for this person?”

“Well, tain’t easy,” said Jack, rubbing his chin. “‘Cause of my chosen profession, y’see.” Marielle nodded gravely. “‘Fraid I tend to put most ordinary folk off, what with the beads and the kohl and the death sentence, and as for fellow pirates...that’s a pot I’d only dip into were I desperate.”

“You sound desperate enough to me.” She stood, fixing a black ribbon with a silver death’s head pendant around her slim neck.

Jack slumped down onto the bed with a sigh. “No, ‘m just blowin’ off steam. Must be Lizzie an’ Will marrying what’s done it. Makes me feel lonely and pathetic to see the younglings so happy.” He groped around on the floor for his breeches, frowning. “‘Sides, with my luck I’d probably go for every other person on land or sea ‘cept for that one I’m meant to seek.”

Marielle paused in the process of propping up her bosom in the tight-fitting gown. “You don’t believe you’d recognize love if you came across it?”

With a nonchalant peek at her half-exposed breasts, Jack shook his head. “How to know when so many of the folks I meet are only looking for a bit of fun? I’d have to be walloped upside the head, most likely.”

Marielle’s lush mouth twisted in something approximating a smile, though for a second it was cold enough to chill Jack’s blood. “Perhaps you’ll be fortunate enough to encounter someone who’ll oblige.”

A low warning rumble interrupted Jack’s reply. He pulled a face at the ceiling. “An’ to top it all off, here comes the rain.” He looked at the woman again with some anxiety, realizing he'd been more free with his tongue than he should have been. “Listen, I’d much appreciate if you wouldn’t tell th’ other girls about this. I’m down this way too often, hate to find meself the butt of more jokes’n usual.”

This smile showed her teeth, which were white and a bit sharper than average. “Everything said tonight was said in confidence.”

“Good, good,” said Jack heartily. He slipped her more coin than she’d asked for and though she counted it, she didn’t comment. She let herself out and he stared at the door for a moment, contemplating legging it back to the _Pearl_. But he’d already paid for the room and the rain had started to pound. So Jack tucked himself under the thin blanket, and slept, and dreamed of nothing at all.


	2. The Black Pearl

Jack was out of the room and back on the _Pearl_ by dawn, after most of Tortuga had collapsed and before anyone had yet stirred. He made minute correction to a series of maps while he waited for the rest of his crew to come stumbling onboard. After a few hours, he declared it fair to leave anyone missing behind and went to the helm to set a course for Port Royal – or more precisely for a bay just east of Port Royal. Wouldn’t do to get himself caught when he only intended to sneak in for a quick visit with the children.

He hummed quietly at the wheel. Gradually he began to feel a prickling sensation between his shoulderblades, as if someone had rubbed sand into the fabric of his shirt. A glance behind him showed the crew going about their daily work, and the eerie sensation disappeared.

It returned a few minutes later. This time he spun quickly, catching a few men averting their gazes the moment his eyes fell upon them. Jack glanced down at himself, puzzled. He seemed to be put together all right, clothes and effects and whatnot - he'd even ordered a hip-bath at the tavern last night. Pirates were a rude lot in general, but they didn’t stare at something they got to see everyday.

“Captain!”

He turned again to see Anamaria striding purposefully toward him. Relief won out over puzzlement; she was as sensible a person as ever he’d met and she ought to know what was going on.

“A word,” she said, jerking her head in the direction of his cabin. Jack gestured to Marty.

“Take the wheel, Mr. Marty, there’s a good man,” he said. Marty craned his neck to gaze up at Jack, running a hand slowly over the smooth wood on a lower spoke.

“Anything you say, Captain,” the little man replied.

“Er, right,” said Jack,confused anew by the way Marty’s eyes followed him as Anamaria dragged him backwards.

She pulled him into the cabin and shut the door behind her. Jack rubbed the back of his head, feeling for a bump he might not have remembered getting. “There are strange moods afoot. I’m hoping you might have some kinda –” He suddenly found himself seized in strong arms and flung against the wall, one hand planted on either side of his head. “Explanation,” he squeaked, recognizing the feral, snarling grin on the woman’s face, the one she got whenever they were hunting a particularly fat prize.

“There’s been a lotta talk ‘bout you and I over the years,” she said, tilting her head to study him with her dark eyes. “Lotta rumors, lotta innuendos.”

Jack tried a winsome smile, stalling for time. “I swear I had nothin’ to with it, love.”

One hand gripped his shoulder, for which he was grateful because it meant he was held up despite the buckling of his knees. The other hand had gone southward to cup him in a decidedly intimate manner.

“Talk’s cheap, Jack,” Anamaria growled, flexing her fingers. Jack groaned despite himself; it was just this side of painful. Her kiss was much the same, all wet heat and stabbing tongue and clashing teeth. His head spun and she had to work to keep him standing upright.

Jack would be lying if he said he’d never had a thought or two about the woman currently in the process of ravishing him. But he’d long ago decided it was a bad idea to seek company among his crew, where a lover’s spat might very well end in bloodshed on a hot, becalmed day.

Besides which, Anamaria was more terrifying than Barbossa and his monkey combined. The mere thought of bedding her was enough to make his balls try to climb up inside his body.

She was also uncommonly strong. Jack struggled against the arm pinning his wrists above his head, to no avail. Finally, when she left his mouth and began to nip sharply down his neck, he was able to croak out a weak cry for help.

“Calling uncle already, are we, Sparrow?” She pinched one nipple and he yelped.

The cabin door crashed open and a meaty hand was pulling Anamaria off. Jack braced himself against the bulkhead, panting, as Anamaria twisted out of Gibbs’ reach.

“What the devil be goin’ on here?” the older man demanded.

Anamaria smirked, narrowing hungry eyes at Jack. “None o’ your fool business, Joshamee. The captain an’ me were havin’ words.”

Gibbs glanced over, catching Jack’s pleading stare, and jabbed a finger in the direction of the door. “Well, y’ can have 'em some other time.”

As first mate, he outranked her and she was bound to follow his orders unless Jack contradicted them. Jack closed his eyes, not wanting to see the expression on her face when he declined to do so.

“Fine,” she snapped. “But this ain’t over, Sparrow.”

Once the door was closed with a bang, Jack sighed in relief and opened his eyes to find Gibbs shaking his head in sympathy. “Women, eh?”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into the lass,” Jack replied, crossing a wobbly path to his desk and sinking into a chair. “She was like a shark scentin’ fresh blood in the water.”

Gibbs chuckled, coming up behind him and clapping him on the shoulder. “Sometimes ‘tis too easy to forget that she’s got needs.”

Jack snorted, toying with a jade paperweight. “She can bloody well find someone else to fulfill ‘em.”

“Needs same as any man,” Gibbs continued softly. Both hands were on Jack’s shoulders now, lifting his hair to the side and kneading gently. “We all got needs, Jack.”

“Of...course,” said Jack uncertainly, as the pressure grew more and more insistent. When Gibbs leaned down and took a strong whiff of his hair, Jack decided he’d had enough.

“Right then,” he said, bolting up from the chair and backing quickly away. “If you’ll just...relieve Marty at the helm? I have some sleep t’ catch up on.”

Gibbs nodded gravely. “Busy night ashore, aye? Know how that can be.” He winked lewdly.

Jack stared. No one with a case of muttonchops that severe had ever made eyes at him before. “Aye,” he finally said.

“I’ll be gettin’ along then,” said Gibbs, and damned if he didn’t sashay his hips a bit as he walked to the door. “But you jest holler if you should need an’thing, Jack.” He cast one more doe-eyed look over his shoulder before leaving.

“Jesus Christ,” Jack muttered, falling back into his chart table. “Has my entire crew gone completely mad?”

It must be the sun, he decided. It was fierce today and that was bound to addle men’s brains. They could take to the shade in the little cove off of Port Royal while he restored his own bearings by spending some time with sane folks. Until then, he intended to barricade himself in his cabin and hope Anamaria did not regain her senses and come to vivisect him.


	3. The Turners

“No, Polly would _not_ like a cracker, thank you very much!” Jack shouted over his shoulder as he set off amongst the trees. Really, one would expect a man who’d suffered as great a loss as Cotton to respect the purity of the animal world. Jack would never have guessed a parrot could _bend_ like that.

The walk into town was just over a mile, and he quite enjoyed the opportunity to clear his head. Slinking down back alleys, he got lost twice before he finally found the smithy.

“Jack!” Will, to his intense relief, greeted him with the same warm enthusiasm and boisterous hug as always.

Jack laughed as Will’s wiry arms lifted him off his feet. “Ooof. And how are you doin', whelp?”

Will toyed with a loose curl, his brown eyes suddenly finding an elsewhere to look. “Oh. I’m – I’m fine, I suppose...” 

Seating himself on a sawhorse, Jack lifted an eyebrow. “Domestic troubles?”

“How did you know?” Will exclaimed.

“Just a guess. Go on, then – tell old Jack what’s been troublin’ your happy home.”

Will paced in short laps before the forge, biting his lip. “Well, it’s just...I love Elizabeth, I do. But lately I’ve been having these thoughts...feelings...about...”

“Someone who is not your lovely wife?” Jack supplied with a wry grin.

Will nearly tripped himself in his shock. “Exactly. Jack, I’ve –”

“No need to worry,” said Jack, feeling perfectly confident in his ability to advise marriages even though he had never been unfortunate enough to get trapped in one himself. “‘Tis perfectly normal for your eyes to stray now and then – you’re only human, after all.”

The boy shook his head, rubbing his palms over his thighs, nearly trembling with agitation. “No, you don’t understand, this is...oh, bugger it,” he said suddenly, gripping Jack’s shoulders and kissing him.

Jack was struck mute and dumb, allowing Will a moment of hesitation before he tentatively slipped a tongue into Jack’s mouth. Warm, wet, lovely tongue...pretty blacksmith...Bootstrap’s son...

“No! Not good!” He waved his arms frantically, breaking Will’s hold but unfortunately slipping backwards to land on the sooty floor. Will, his face hungry and desperate, stepped easily over the wooden horse and knelt beside Jack, more or less in his lap. Jack rubbed his sore backside and whipped his head from side to side, trying to avoid the messy little kisses Will was dropping on his face but more importantly trying to think.

Will finally held either side of his neck to keep him still. Jack blinked up at him, certain that slobber had gotten into his eyes.

“I love you, Jack” said Will throatily, caressing Jack’s jawline with his thumbs. “I’ve loved you since the beginning, only I never knew it...”

Jack lifted his hands, having to grab onto the front of Will’s shirt to keep himself from falling over again. “Now wait just a minute, lad – think ‘bout how ridiculous that sounds,” he said breathlessly, snapping his teeth in warning when Will looked as though he was swooping in for another go. “You’re mate to Lizzie’s soul, and y’ don’t even like men.”

Will’s lower lip stuck out in a pout, and Jack hated himself for it, but he very much enjoyed the sight. “I could like men,” he said in a sulky tone. “You don’t know. Perhaps I’ve been having shameful dreams about the commodore since I was a boy.”

“An’ that would be your own business,” said Jack. “Even if it’s so, you’re still newly and happily married to a woman who, quite frankly, is more than capable of havin’ both our balls for this.” _And Bill would come back from his watery grave to pop me a good ‘un if I so much as touched you._

“I don’t care about any of that,” Will cried passionately, grinding himself down against Jack. “We’ll sail away, we’ll be free for the rest of our lives...”

“If you’d wanted that, you’d’ve done it already,” Jack said, knowing that it was useless to argue with anyone in this state, much less the very young and very stubborn. Problem was, he wasn’t in a suitable position to lever Will off of his lap. And Will’s thigh was blocking his sword hilt.

Will had his nose buried behind Jack’s hair, breathing deeply. “Oh, for so long I’ve wanted you to hold me like this, Jack...”

“William, love, get _off_!” Jack wrinkled his nose at his own choice of wording. The wriggling Will continued to do was helping them both in that department, though Jack was at least trying to hide it.

“See, you do care for me!” said Will, a fanatic gleam in his eyes. “Why else would you have called me that?”

Jack placed his hands flat on the floor and tried to heave upward, but oh, that was definitely not helping manners any. “I don’t mean anything by it,” he said, exasperated. “‘S just a word. I could’ve easily called you ‘brat.’ _Brat,_ ” he tried hopefully. “Blackguard? Whoreson? Bullheaded lout of a landlubbing scumbucket?”

Will smiled mistily and tucked his head under Jack’s chin. “You say such sweet things when you’re angry, my love.”

The sound of someone pounding on the door – Jack had bolted it behind him, for safety’s sake – disturbed them before Jack could weep in frustration. This, at least, got Will to scramble to his feet.

“Hurry,” he hissed, pulling Jack up as well and brushing solicitously at his clothing – including, Jack noted, the seat of his breeches. “If anyone should find us out, we’ll be clapped in irons!”

“Will?”

The boy blanched. “It’s Elizabeth! Blast, I can’t face her like this –”

“How’s about you go hide over there –” Jack pointed to the shadows behind them. “– an’ I’ll greet dear Lizzie.”

“That’s a clever plan!” Will enthused, clinging to Jack’s hands. He pecked Jack on the cheek. “Keep her thinking all is well, and then tonight we can sneak away to the _Pearl_.”

“Sure,” said Jack, shoving him off. “Looking forward to it.”

Once Will had tucked himself under a table in the gloom, Jack went to let Elizabeth in. She smiled warmly at him, hugging a long, heavy cloak around her body.

“You don’t look surprised to see me,” said Jack.

“Hello to you too,” Elizabeth retorted. “I heard you were in town.”

Jack resisted the urge to stamp his foot. “But I was being sneaky.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Elizabeth, her hazel eyes twinkling. “Come here and greet me properly.” Refreshed by her usual tartness, Jack spread his arms and Elizabeth threw herself into his embrace, wrapping her arms around him in turn.

For several long seconds they neither moved nor spoke. Then Jack said calmly, “Elizabeth?”

“Yes, Jack?” Her voice was muffled against his shoulder.

“Why are you not wearing anything underneath that cloak?”

Elizabeth lifted her head, beaming. “Happy birthday.”

“My birthday’s not for another fortnight,” said Jack, keeping absolutely still out of fear that moving would create friction, and he would be even more aware of stark-naked bits of Elizabeth pressed against already-awake bits of himself.

She shrugged, nibbling at his left earlobe. “Guidelines,” she muttered around the small gold hoop piercing his flesh.

Will chose that moment to spring up from his hiding place, pointing an accusing finger at his wife.

“ _Elizabeth_!” he thundered. She leapt back, but not far, and she looked more defiant than guilty.

“I can explain,” said Jack quickly, an automated reaction stemming from previous situations that had started out looking quite a bit like this.

“You aren’t the one who needs to do so.” Will stalked over to his wife, eyes blazing. “How dare you attempt to seduce my lover, Elizabeth!”

“Your lover?” said Elizabeth and Jack together, she with righteous anger and he with horrified indignation.

Elizabeth whirled on Jack, clutching the cloak tight again, much to his relief. “Jack, is this true?”

“Of course not!”

“Yes!” said Will at the same time, shooting Jack a wounded look. “Jack, hasn’t the time we’ve spent together meant anything to you?”

“ _What_ time? The last five minutes?”

“What about me?” Elizabeth demanded, planting fists on her hips and thereby letting her cloak fall open. Jack immediately clapped a hand over his eyes. “Oh for God’s sake,” she said witheringly, “it’s not as if you’ve never seen a naked woman before.”

“True,” said Jack, still shielding his vision, “but if you ever happen t' regain your senses, you will ask if I looked, and you will slap me if I say yes.”

“You could lie and I’ll pretend to believe you,” said Elizabeth silkily. He felt a slim hand creep up his shirt front and he made a sign of the cross with both hands, shutting his eyes tight.

“Stop that!” Will said. He stepped up behind Jack and pulled him away from Elizabeth. Jack didn’t know whether he should be grateful or alarmed. 

He chanced to open his eyes and found Elizabeth thankfully covered once more. “I cannot believe you would betray our vows, Will Turner,” she sniffed, glaring at her husband.

“I can’t believe _you_ would!”

Elizabeth tossed her head, smirking. “It takes a _real_ man to satisfy a woman of my disposition.”

“As it does for me – except for the part about being a woman,” he said, lowering his eyelashes at Jack. “I can assure you, there’s nothing womanlike about me...” He attempted to sidle up to Jack. Jack darted forward only to find Elizabeth in the way. He decided that Will was safer, since he was still fully clothed.

“Jack _wants_ someone tender and feminine,” said Elizabeth bracingly. “He wants the kind of intimacy a woman provides – not the kind that involves belching and crotch-scratching.” Her eyes took on a fond, faraway look. “He cried when we made love on the island...”

“I most certainly didn't!” Jack shouted, then, seeing Will’s face crumple as though someone had just told him his puppy had drowned trying to save a bunch of baby sea otters, “ _We_ didn't!”

Elizabeth scowled at him. “Well, we _could_ have.”

“We could not have! You got me drunk, and b’sides, like I’d’ve trusted you with the goods after what happened to me rum?”

“Jack,” said Will, fixing him with big, pleading eyes, “tell her the truth. Tell her you love me.”

Jack’s mouth fell open and flopped aimlessly for a moment.

“Wait,” said Elizabeth, holding up a hand. “What we need to do here is use our brains and examine the situation from a clear perspective.”

Jack clasped his hands together, hardly daring to hope. Could it be possible that this was all an elaborate hoax? A dream, perhaps? God, what he wouldn’t give to have a fist fly into his face right now, if it meant husband or wife was jealous for the right reaons.

“I am in love with Jack.” She nodded politely to Will. “You are in love with Jack.”

“Er...that’s not exactly...” Jack trailed off, his spirits sinking.

“What are you suggesting?” Will wanted to know, his brow furrowed with suspicion.

Elizabeth minced over to him, tracing a finger down his cheek. “Well, being that we are married, and married couples are meant to share all the joys of life...” She turned, letting Will wrap his arms around her from behind. They each crooked a finger at Jack, wearing twin devious grins.

Jack put a hand to his heart to check that it was still beating. “The devil is real an’ factual.”

“Come on, Jack,” Elizabeth purred. “Play with us.”

“We’re ripe for the... _taking_ ,” murmured Will, closing his teeth on Elizabeth’s neck.

“He’s waiting just around the corner t’ take me down to hell,” said Jack hollowly. “I shall burn forever more in a lake of fire and brimstone.”

“We’ll make you burn,” Elizabeth offered in a bright tone. Will nodded frantically.

Jack heaved a deep, deep sigh. When faced with a situation such as this, there was really only one choice to be made.

 

“Ouch! Lemme go!”

“I thought you might like it rough, Jack, but I must admit this wasn’t entirely what I had in –”

“Quiet, both o’ you,” Jack barked. Having led the Turners to the governor’s house, each by an ear, he rapped on the door with his own forehead. Elizabeth and Will squirmed and he pinched harder.

A startled maid answered. “I’m here to deliver the governor’s children,” said Jack. She dimpled at him and let him pull the two young people inside. Will had resorted to whimpering and hugging himself. Elizabeth was still trying to grope her handler.

Swann came barreling down the staircase, fixing his wig. “Sparrow!” he cried. “What on earth might you be doing here?”

Jack released his two charges, who shook themselves like ducks shaking off water and rubbed at their reddened ears. “Your daughter and your son-in-law need to be taken in hand, sir. They’re both behavin’ abominably.”

The older man puffed out his chest. “And by what authority do you judge their behavior, Mr. Sparrow?”

“The authority of the bothered and the beleaguered,” said Jack. “And now I’ll be on my way.”

It had only just occurred to him that walking right into the governor’s home might not have been the best of ideas. He blamed his lack of foresight on the boy and girl currently casting lustful stares at his rear.

“Wait,” said Swann in ringing, English tones of command. Jack halted mid-stride, wincing. He turned slowly, holding his hands up in meek supplication.

Swann tugged anxiously at his hem and cleared his throat. “There is no need to disappear so soon, Mr. – Captain Sparrow.”

“I beg to differ, seeing’s how it’s your duty to hang me, and my duty to keep meself from bein’ hanged,” said Jack as politely as he knew how.

“Yes, well, we can sort out that nasty business over a nice cup of tea. How do you feel about blueberries? I can have the cook whip up some currant scones if they are not to your liking.”

It took Jack a full thirty seconds to realize the governor was smiling at him. And smiling in far too friendly of a matter. In fact, he was practically leering – a subtle, well-bred leer, but a leer nonetheless. Will and Elizabeth were united again, this time in looking murderous. The maid who’d come to the door and a tall, gaunt manservant were huddling by the staircase, whispering and looking him over.

Jack did what had proven to be his salvation in less trying times than these. He turned tail and fled.

He got about ten yards down the path to the gates before running full tilt into the selfsame person he was least anxious to see.

“Jack Sparrow,” said Commodore Norrington, holding him at arm’s length.


	4. At the Fort

To James Norrington’s surprise, Sparrow did not attempt to break out of his hold or employ his dubious charms. Instead he gripped James’ forearms, his eyes wide and desperate.

“Listen to me, mate,” he said urgently. “You are Commodore James Norrington and you despise me on account o’ I’m a pirate and a law-breakin’ cur."

James stared at him. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “And your point would be?”

An expression of beatific gratitude broke across Sparrow’s anxious face. There seemed to be actual tears in his eyes. He dropped to his knees, clinging to James’ hands like a drowning victim.

“Oh thank all the gods,” he cried out. James stepped back, alarmed and suspecting some new ploy. Sparrow followed him with an awkward hop-crawl.

“Unhand me this instant!” Finally wrenching himself free, James drew his sword and pointed it at Sparrow. The man sat back on his heels, looking up at him. The thought came unbidden that the position suited him and was one James had seen many times in his dreams, only then Sparrow had never looked quite so calm and James wasn’t exactly fending him off.

“Up,” he snapped, his fingers clenching on the hilt. Such thoughts were to be disregarded as the bilgewater of an unhinged mind, as was their subject.

The ornaments in Sparrow’s hair clinked as he rose smoothly to his feet. He smiled at James, looking for all the world like a man greeting an old and dear friend. “Fancy we should meet again, Commodore. Off for tea with the gov’nor? I hear blueberry scones are on the menu.” Suddenly he scowled, tugging on a sleeve. “Myself, I’ve no interest in his blueberries and he should really learn t’ respect that.”

James swallowed a sigh, feeling his left eye threatening to twitch. “What are you on about, Sparrow? No,” he added, applying the edge of his blade to Sparrow’s neck. The pirate went still, though there was still amusement twinkling in his dark eyes. “On second thought, I find myself not caring in the slightest.” He jerked his head in the direction of the coach he had just exited. “After you.”

Sparrow held up his hands, fingers spread wide. “There’s something I oughta explain, mate –”

“I’m sure there is, but do remember the part where I fail to care. Get in.”

He pressed his lips tight together, but obeyed. James made certain to look at the cobblestones instead of the rear end bouncing pertly as Sparrow climbed the little iron steps. It was a pity he didn’t have any cuffs on him, but he would just have to keep Sparrow cowed with sword and pistol.

Sparrow settled back against the well-upholstered seat, whistling appreciatively. “Quite the spread, Commodore. Velvet, eh?”

“Shut up,” said James without emotion, suspecting it would not be the last time he would say it this morning. He kept his attention trained on Sparrow as he tipped his head back and said to the coachman, “Take us to the fort, please.”

He could hear the man gasp behind him, but didn’t dare take his eyes from his charge, who was looking oddly smug. Ignoring James, he quirked his eyebrows and curved his lips suggestively at the unseen face of the coachman.

“Eyes forward, sir,” James ordered. “And you – stop that at once.”

“Stop what, Jamie love?” Sparrow inquired, batting his long eyelashes.

James gasped in consternation, crushing a sudden fear that Sparrow had somehow discovered the name he’d been calling out in the night. He resisted the urge to kick him in the shins, but only just.

“You may not address me in such an informal manner, Sparrow.”

Sparrow shrugged, flashing white and gold teeth at him. “Your loss.” He brought one hand close to his face, studying his nails. “You won’t hang me this day, you know,” he said without looking up.”

“I don’t think you are in any position to make such demands,” said James. He shifted uncomfortably; his stomach had roiled at the sudden image of Sparrow on the scaffolding, his head lolling at a wrong angle, tongue protruding grotesquely, the brightness gone from his eyes...

For once he was thankful for Sparrow’s impertinence, as it served to distracted him from the shiver in his blood. “‘S not a demand,” said Sparrow. “Stone-cold fact. You’re welcome t’ try, o’ course, but I daresay it’ll fall through unless you should pull the lever yourself.” He met James’ eyes across the small coach. “Think you can do that, mate?”

“I’m not your mate,” said James, which was not an answer. Sparrow merely looked at him steadily.

The vehicle lurched to a stop, breaking their staring contest. When James reached for the door handle, he was pleasantly surprised to find it opened for him.

“Thank you,” he said to his coachman, offering an arm to be assisted in exit. The man took it and yanked; only James’ sense of balance saved him from a fall. He turned, incensed, to see the coachman helping Jack down, treating him like a delicate lady.

“Thankee, loyal servant,” said Jack grandly, lifting his chin.

James glared at his coachman. There was the scent of a sacking in the air, no doubt about that. “That will be all,” he said coldly, taking Sparrow by the elbow and hauling him forward.

As it turned out, Lieutenant Groves was the man on duty at the little desk above the descent to the cells. He stood quickly, nearly tipping his chair over, as James dragged Sparrow through the low doorway.

“Just remember, I did warn you,” Sparrow murmured. James tried not to think about warm breath gusting over his ear.

“Irons, Lieutenant,” he said crisply to Groves. “I believe we have accommodations ready for Mr. Sparrow.”

Groves snapped to attention. “Which inn shall I notify, sir, the Dragonfly or the King’s Arms?”

James blinked. Groves was well aware of his feelings about inappropriate use of humor on the job. “I meant a cell,” he said. “A cell for the captured convict.”

“Savvy?” Sparrow added, clicking his heels.

“As soon as possible,” Norrington requested of the ceiling. His eyes returned from their heavenward roll to find Jack somehow standing beside Groves. The pirate was leaning against the wall, arms crossed at his chest. Groves was tugging on his wig and ducking his head shyly.

Flummoxed almost to the point of speechlessness, James waved a frustrated hand. They both ignored him.

“So, served under the commodore for long?” Sparrow asked in a conversational tone. Groves blushed like a schoolgirl.

“Theodore,” said James harshly, “I gave you an order.” He knew of the man’s unhealthy fascination with the somewhat better-groomed factions of piracy, but this behavior was inexcusable.

Groves glanced up at him, innocently puzzled. “Surely you weren’t serious, sir? I mean, this is – this is _Jack Sparrow_!”

Sparrow smirked at James and mouthed _Told you so_.

“Yes, this is indeed Jack Sparrow,” said James, trying to keep his voice quiet because he could feel the bellow creeping into it, “and it is our duty to see him incarcerated for his crimes.”

“He was framed!” said Groves hotly

“He’s a pirate!”

Groves turned his eyes back to Sparrow, gazing at him with no little amount of adoration. “Yes, he is,” he sighed. “Isn’t that marvelous?”

“Likewise, darling,” Sparrow purred.

“That doesn’t even make any sense!” James declared. Sparrow chuckled, reaching out to smooth the lapels on Groves’ coat but watching James all the while. Groves looked as though he was about to swoon.

There had to be something going on here. Groves had gone barking mad, or Sparrow had managed to drug him somehow, or more likely James was hallucinating the both of them and this was merely a fantasy set-up designed to get to the fornicating in a prison cell. It would not be the first time, he had to admit.

James pushed his sleeve back and pinched the flesh on the underside of his arm. 

Sparrow was still smirking at him, now stroking a single finger down Groves’ jawline. The lieutenant had his eyes closed in rapture as he moved into the touch.

James pinched himself again, harder. He stared down at the angry half-moon marks, uncomprehending. 

“All right,” he finally said, casting weary eyes upon Sparrow. “Tell me what is going on. And please stop molesting my lieutenant.”

“‘Please’?” said Sparrow with approval. “Now we’re gettin’ somewhere.” He disentangled himself from Groves, who whimpered in disappointment.

James stiffened as Sparrow came over and draped an arm across his shoulders. “So sorry – Theodore was it?”

“Teddy, if you like,” said Groves, his handsome face lighting up.

Sparrow’s only response to James’ mortified fidgeting was to tighten his grip. “Teddy, then. I’m afraid the commodore and I have a...prior engagement.” He withdrew his arm, but then startled James into a squeak by patting his arse. Groves’ eyes suddenly went flat and dangerous. “I’ll be sure t’ look you up next time I'm in town, however,” said Sparrow graciously. He tugged on James’ arm. “Come along, peanut.”

James felt the blood rush to his face. He had bypassed eye-twitching and was now beset by a red, heavy throbbing at his temples. Mostly because he was incapable of moving under his own volition, he allowed Sparrow to tug him outside.

“He snores, you know,” Groves called sulkily. “ _And_ he steals the covers.”

Sparrow looked sideways at him. “Do not ask,” he growled. So much for Theodore’s solemn word. A commanding officer ought to be able to expect a certain degree of discretion after finding himself ravished by his second lieutenant after five rounds of ale and three choruses of “Bonnie Charlie and the Mermaid's Bosom.”


	5. One Fish

Jack glanced back over his shoulder as Norrington hauled him behind a shed. The little lieutenant was cute as a button, and neither married like Elizabeth nor the offspring of his dead mate like Will nor really, really scary like Anamaria and Governor Swann. It was entirely unfair that Jack was not to be permitted to take advantage of the lad’s friendly nature. On the other hand, he was quite enjoying the way the commodore was manhandling him so – and with such big, strong hands, too...

On the other-other hand (and Jack had once seen a man in Delhi with three hands, so he never hesitated to put it into use), though the fire in Norrington’s green eyes suited him beautifully, it did not bode well for Jack’s chances at exploring where else those hands might grip him.

“What is going on here?” Norrington bit out, keeping his voice low and his head bent.

Jack rotated one hand gracefully. “You’ve seen it. Everybody’s trippin’ all over themselves for a little attention from Captain Jack. Me crew, and your man, and dear Lizzie an’ William...” He paused, remembering the offer they had finally agreed upon. Somebody had better grant him a boon of fair sailing for turning that one down.

“But _why_?”

Jack boggled at him. “Why? Well, I never thought ‘bout that.” They both jumped at the sound of a dull clatter nearby, but it was only a loose goat, nosing around for some scraps.

Norrington turned that intense gaze upon him once again. “Think, Sparrow,” he said. “There must be some reason for why you’ve suddenly become an irresistible Don Juan to anyone who crosses your path, -- except me, fortunately.”

“ _Suddenly?_?” Jack repeated, licking his lips and waggling his eyebrows at the other man. The fact that he had no effect whatsoever on Norrington made him all the more eager to give it a try.

A muscle twitched in Norrington’s jaw, which was as tightly clenched as his arse. “Jack. This is causing a great deal of trouble. I want it fixed.”

“Jack is it, now?” He saw confusion cloud Norrington’s face – hadn’t even realized he’d done Jack the honor of calling him by his Christian name. That, now... _that_ was interesting indeed.

“It’s shorter,” Norrington muttered, his cheeks going faintly pink.

“Mmhmm,” said Jack, far from convinced. Perhaps he should retract that whatsoever bit.

His eyes widened at the sudden rough touch between his legs. Perhaps he should retract the whole damned statement.

Another stroke made him shudder. “Didn’t know you’d move things along this quickly, James,” he said, a bit out of breath. “Not exactly shy with our hands, are we?”

Fine dark eyebrows raised. “I’m not touching you.”

Abruptly Jack realized that both of the commodore’s arms were stationary at his sides. Well, he’d heard tell of witches who could look a man in the eye and make him come without so much as blinking, but this was really...

...really disturbing, actually.

“Get on with you!” He shoved the white goat away from himself. It bleated in protest and tried to nuzzle him again.

Norrington hid his mouth behind a palm, but Jack could see the laughter dancing in his eyes. “It’s your fault, really – that goatee is very misleading.”

Jack glared at him. He was soon distracted by a snuffling noise by his feet. Glancing down, he saw a mangy gray dog avoid the goat’s stamping hooves to sniff thoughtfully at his leg.

That was quite enough for Jack. Grabbing Norrington by the hand, he darted off down an alley, away from overfamiliar beasts. The commodore protested, but weakly and quietly.

They paused in a dark corner after they were safely away, Norrington wheezing slightly. Jack figured running in that ridiculous uniform was probably responsible for his shortness of breath. The exertion had put a healthy glow to his face, though, and Jack was suddenly tempted to reach up and see if the skin over his cheekbones was as peachy-fine as it looked.

His fingers had just twitched to shoulder-height when an outbreak of broad accents at the far end of the alley attracted his attention.

“The baby ain't yours, Quentin, it's Jack Sparrow's!”

“That rapscallion! ...I’ll kill ‘im fer throwin’ me over...” Others muttered along with them, indistinct but clearly angry.

Throwing Norrington a look of sheer panic, Jack dragged him forward again. There was no hope of reaching the right fork before the unseen mob came down the left. He would just have to trust his luck and hope that whoever owned this house was out combing the streets for him.

For some reason Norrington began to dig in his heels, pulling Jack back. Jack threw all his weight forward, dragging them through the door that was conveniently unlocked.

“No! Not in...”

He stumbled over a brazier, eyes dazzled by the light inside the building. Norrington coming to a dead stop behind him made him struggle to keep his balance. He lost the battle quickly and they both went tumbling down on smooth wooden planks.

“– there,” Norrington finished as he and Jack peered around at the interior of the Port Royal division of the Church of England.

“Back door, eh?” said Jack sheepishly. He glanced down at the tangle they’d gotten their legs into. Norrington’s face, pale from the prospect of facing the crowd gathered to witness the union of some wispy blonde and her apple-cheeked bloke, went red and he scrambled to his feet, offering Jack a hand. Something – _happened_ when their fingers touched, a sensation like dragging your feet across a rug on a cold winter’s day and then touching a doorknob. That and the sunlight shining through the tall windows served to make him dizzy, so that he stood motionless for a moment and blinked stupidly.

“Jack?” Norrington’s brows drew together with something Jack might have called worry in anyone else. “Are you all right?”

There was something important about that...about the light, and the spark, and how they were both reflected in those green eyes...

“What is the meaning of this?” demanded the robed figure at the altar.

Jack opened his mouth to explain, but saw the looks on the darling couple’s faces.

“Oh bugger,” he said with feeling.

Norrington’s fingers tightened around his, evoking an illicit thrill despite the overwhelmingly unfortunate setting. “What?”

“I object to this marriage!” said the groom in a throaty voice, licking his fingertip and attempting to comb a cowlick out of his hair.

The bride shoved her bouquet into his arms. “As do I.” She looked Jack up and down, blue eyes narrowed in appreciation.

The vicar in the tightly-curled white wig thumped his Bible on the pulpit to get their attention. “Well, I am overriding your objection. I pronounce you man and wife whether you like it or not.” Jack could just barely see a child’s hand thrusting an ivory pillow with the rings between bride and groom. The vicar, clearly considering his job done, turned to bow his head to Jack, who wrinkled his nose at the memory of how bloody itchy and hot those robes were. “And you, sir – I do not believe I have seen you at Sunday service.”

“I...don’t attend,” said Jack. Beside him, Norrington snorted in derision. 

Stern gray eyes regarded him from behind a tiny pair of spectacles. “That is a shame. No matter what his profession –” His clothing and effects were being scrutinized and quickly found wanting. “– it behooves any man to strengthen his relationship with God.” His thin lips turned up at one corner and his gaze was suddenly a great deal warmer. “By seeking guidance from earthly ministers of the Word, of course.”

Norrington dropped his hand like a hot coal as realization struck home. “Good Lord!” he exclaimed.

“Watch your mouth, young man,” said the vicar fussily. “I’ll not stand for anyone defiling my house of worship, King's man or not.” He offered a be-ringed hand to Jack, his demeanor taking a turn quick enough to give it whiplash. “I would be remiss in my duties as a citizen of the crown and a servant of the Lord if I did not offer you the hospitality of His house, my good man. Tell me, have you ever been inside a rectory?”

Jack plastered the most disarming smile in his considerable repertoire onto his face. The vicar's eyes closed in bliss and the sound of heady sighs echoed throughout the church. He took this opportunity to haul Norrington back into the alley, relieved to find it deserted once more.

Slamming the door and pressing his back to it, Jack mused, “You know, if I didn’t already think ‘rectory’ was a dirty word, I certainly would now.”

Norrington was staring past him with utter shock. “That – that vicar was trying to _proposition_ you!”

“Jealous?”

“But he’s a cleric!” Norrington burst out. “Surely there are some common laws, even in this – this –” 

“Never done it with a priest,” Jack assured him.

“I am positively thrilled to hear that,” said Norrington, a bit of his typical acrimony drying out his tone.

Jack stroked his chin thoughtfully. “‘Twas quite nice with that nun, though. Wonder if a vicar might blaspheme as loudly?”

Norrington dropped his head into his hands. “This is madness, through and through. Even _you_ should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Oy, I didn’t cause this!” Jack protested. “Whatever’s goin’ on here, ‘s not my fault!”

“Well, since we’ve yet to determine the root of the problem, we can’t rule out –” He was cut off by a thump from the other side of the door.

Jack braced himself, trying to hold it closed. “Little help here?” he asked tightly. Norrington threw a shoulder against the door and they both grimaced in concentration as more force was applied from within.

“On second thought,” Jack panted, “let’s find a better spot to continue this discussion, shall we?”

Norrington frowned in thought for a moment. “My office,” he declared. “We should be safe enough within the walls of Fort Charles.”

“Safe from my many admirers?” Jack shook his head ruefully. “Hope those are good thick walls. All right, on three we make a break for it. One, two –”

“Why do you get to do the counting?” Norrington wanted to know.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Oh bloody – three!”

Together they leapt away from the door, sprinting down the alley and ignoring the shouts from the congregants now puddling in the dirt.

 

After an treacherous flight, the two of them finally managed to reach James’ office. He flung the door shut behind Sparrow and slid the bolt home, gasping for breath. Sparrow staggered over to his desk and dropped into the leather chair, putting his head between his knees.

“‘M too old for this sort of thing,” he groaned.

James raised shaking hands to his head. His hat had gone missing, but what he was really concerned about was the orange mess clinging to his wig.

“It’s all sticky,” he complained, licking the stuff off his fingers.

Sparrow’s head popped up. “Here, let me.” He pulled James over, nimble fingers tugging at the wig.

“I can’t believe they threw marmalade at you,” said the pirate, sounding like he was fighting off laughter.

“It isn’t as if I have any interest in you,” said Norrington crossly, snatching his wig back. 

Sparrow’s eyes danced as he reached out to brush a bit of marmalade from James’ ear, tsking. “You should throw ‘em all in jail. Assaulting a naval officer with fruit spread has got to be a punishable offense.” He licked a fingertip. “And poor quality fruit spread, at that.” James swallowed hard, suffering an internal quake at the sight of that tongue slipping out. It wasn’t forked, as he had half-expected.

Common sense told him to remove himself from temptation as quickly as possible, so he strode over to the window, looking down upon the horde gathered at the fort’s doors. He could just make out Will Turner engaging his father-in-law in a duel, silk parasol tapping against horsehead-tipped walking stick.

“What could possibly have gotten into them?” he said, turning away.

Sparrow shrugged, drawing a feather quill between his fingers. “Can’t say. Haven’t even been here in months.” His nostrils flared and he slapped the quill down on the desk. “That’s it! Not here – Tortuga! That doxy cast a spell on me!”

“A spell?” said James, doubt coloring his voice.

Sparrow nodded vigorously. “An’ not just any ruddy spell, oh no,” he said, pushing himself up from the chair and wagging his finger at James. “A _love spell_.” He spat out the words as if they were bitter to the taste.

“I don’t believe in magic,” said James, deliberately not thinking about pirates under moonlight.

Sparrow shrugged. “Don’t have t’ believe in it, mate. Doesn’t change the fact of it.”

“Of course,” James added, “before now I’d never have believed I would see a priest invite a pirate back to his room.”

“You learn new things every day,” said Sparrow absently. He had his bottom lip stuck out in thought and he was tapping his nails against his thighs. “What all did we say? Can’t remember th’ whole...”

“Are you certain this is some type of enchantment? Because a curse is a type of enchantment, too, and I didn’t deal very effectively with the last one I encountered.”

“Lover like a ship,” Jack muttered, lost in thought. “Sea of suitors...one wriggly little fish all for meself...”

James moved nearer and passed a hand in front of his eyes. “Sparrow? Jack? Excuse me?”

Sparrow’s gaze suddenly rocketed to his own. “I remember,” he breathed. “She wanted to make me see.”

“See – see what?” James found it difficult to speak, captivated as he was by the depths and the contours and the currents in Jack’s dark eyes – and when had he become Jack?

Just now, James realized, while looking at him like that...

“You,” said Jack simply, as though it was something James should have known. Then he was moving closer, too close, and then his lips were closer still until they were finally touching down.

They were nice lips, though tthe part of James’ mind which was still capable of the action. Not smooth, for they belonged to a sailor and so the skin was rough and chapped, but soft all the same. Lush and firm – not delicate or feminine, certainly not weak. He liked the way they fit against his own, and he liked the neat way they parted. The tip of a tongue came slinking into his mouth cautiously as if it feared being turned away. James flexed his jaw, deepening the kiss and welcoming Jack’s tongue with long, sweeping strokes of his own. He tasted rum, and gold, and heat and sun and salt. He felt the thrum of approval deep in Jack’s throat, felt the vibrations pass back and forth between them.

Magic, Jack had said. James wouldn’t know magic from a hole in the ground, but he did know this, suddenly and unequivocally. He knew that it was the thing casting shadows on the pale imitations Jack had been running from all day. He knew that it was not what woke him at night, sweating and gasping, but instead what caused him to lie awake for hours afterward, curled around the empty ache somewhere deep inside. And he knew that he needed air or he was going to suffocate – still, it wouldn’t be the absolute _worst_ way to go...

It was Jack who pulled free, though he didn’t go far. His nose touched Norrington’s own as he bent his head, staring down at their hands – palms flat to palms, fingers interlaced. James couldn’t remember how it had happened.

For long moments they stood still and James breathed, trying to restore balance in himself. Then Jack said, “Gone quiet.”

“Yes,” James replied, his eyes fixed on the tips of Jack’s fingers stroking the back of his hand.

Jack pulled his head back, looked at James with wicked humor in his black eyes. “James. You have a whole mess o’ people who may well not remember why they’re queued up outside the fort. Yours and mine might be the only fully functional minds in all Port Royal at the present moment.”

“I don’t feel particularly functional,” said James, closing his eyes. Jack was poking fun at him. That was unkind. He should be dealt with. Doing so would require James to move, however, and as the air had settled so nicely around the two of them, he wasn’t of a mind to disturb its flow.

Twisting his arms until he could break free, Jack gave him a gentle shove. “Get your shapely arse down there t’ make sure we’re not disturbed for a good long while.

“Oh,” said James, blinking. “That does make sense.” He rubbed his hands together. “Could you possibly point me towards the door?”

 

Jack tilted his head and ogled freely as James left, still looking a bit touched in the head. Well, that hadn’t been so very difficult after all. He’d be sure to thank the lass next time they docked in Tortuga. Perhaps he’d even take the good commodore along.

Running around all day had left him with a strong desire to collapse where he stood. Most likely that was no longer in the cards, at least not until he’d gotten James to unwind even further, but he was still disinclined to set one foot outside that door. The office would have to do.

Jack glanced around it. Not the ideal location, but he’d had worse to work with. He drew the heavy linen curtains closed, after grinning down at James amidst the confused citizens far below. The necessity of clearing off the desk really depended on how limber James might be. Jack was very much looking forward to finding that out.

First things first, though – he stripped off his coat and vest, unwound the sash around his waist, unbuckled his belt, tugged his boots off. He left the trousers while he deliberated over where to place his discarded clothing. James was absolutely the type to fold everything into immaculate little squares, but Jack was averse to the very idea. He finally decided that a suitable compromise was kicking the pile into a corner of the room.

“That was certainly a task I wouldn’t wish on...” James gave up on words, standing in the doorway and staring most impolitely.

Jack leaned back against the desk, enjoying what was happening to James’ pupils. “Shut the door, would you? I don’t fancy givin’ your boys a free show.”

James’ lips twitched. “Not even Lieutenant Groves?”

“Certainly not! Why should he get to look upon you a second time when I’ve not gotten to a first yet?” He cocked his head to the side, frowning as a thought occurred to him. “It would be a second time, aye? Not a third or fourth or seventeenth?”

“Captain Sparrow,” said James in that low, smooth, seduction-tinted voice of his, “jealousy is ill-suited to your complexion.”

Jack clapped a hand over his heart. “I’m wounded, truly I am.”

The speed with which James crossed the room surprised him, but he quickly got over it and chose to be delighted instead. James caught his wrists, stroking the pads of his thumbs along bone and blue vein. When he pressed a kiss to Jack’s pulse, the way it leaped made Jack pull in a shallow breath.

“Everything restored to order?” he asked, more determined than ever to assure their complete and total privacy.

James’ mouth curved sardonically. “I told them there’d been an outbreak of influenza, side effects being severe hallucinations and temporary memory loss.” He turned his head to let Jack pull on the tie holding his hair back. Freed, it fell thick and straight, colored a rich, earthy brown. Jack’s hand found its way into it before he could form a thought, curling and sliding and stroking. The smile softened and James let out a sigh, looking at Jack through half-lidded green eyes. 

“Clever of you,” he murmured.

"I have my moments," said James. Jack chuckled, pulling him down for a kiss more sure than the one before it, though still new and shiny enough to curl his toes.

The heavy blue coat went the way of the hair ribbon, James rolling his shoulders to let Jack peel it off and drop it on the chair. To his consternation, Jack found himself divested of his trousers before he could make another move. Although being able to move his hips against James’ with one less hindrance was a welcome development, the current state of affairs was far too uneven for Jack’s liking. Tugging at James’ starched shirt, he set about trying to rectify the mistake.

James was mouthing desperate things against his neck and writhing deliciously when a small sneeze interrupted them.

“Ignore it, ‘s the hallucinations,” Jack mumbled into his hair.

James’ shoulders shook with silent laughter. “You do understand I made that up?” He kissed Jack again, but it was a distracted, half-interested thing. “I think it came from my closet,” he said, pulling away and straightening what remained of his clothing. Jack pouted, but wrapped himself in James’ coat nonetheless, turning his face to the collar and breathing in the scent of talc and sea air, which was a surprisingly agreeable combination. 

He tiptoed behind James, peeking over his shoulder as he pulled open the door to the tiny closet in the far wall.

The two of them stared at their discovery for a moment, speechless.

Lieutenant Gillette peered up at them. “I – I don’t know how I came to be here, sir, but...” He glanced down at his own huddled body. “I seem to be having a slight case of nudity.”

“No you aren’t, mate” said Jack, trying to be helpful. James raised his eyebrows and Jack shrugged. “There’s the big red velvet bow an’ all.” When James’ expression didn’t alter, Jack back away slowly. “I’ll just, er, get meself dressed and leave you to deal with the whole naked problem.”

“Wait,” said James, reaching for his arm. He bit his lip and looked down at his lieutenant. “Andrew, if you’ll excuse me for a moment?”

“Of course, sir,” said Gillette, adjusting his bow.

James shut the door again, watching silently as Jack gathered up his things. He was alarmed to find his hands shaking. No matter; he’d soon be out of this town, on the dawn tide if he could help it. The whole debacle had been a mistake – to think that he’d put faith in the sorcerous workings of a whore who was probably stark raving mad during her off hours. Ludicrous, that was what it was, and he’d do himself a favor by getting clear before the commodore’s good senses reasserted themselves.

He was struggling to knot his sash satisfactorily when James’ hands glided into his field of vision, holding a key.

“Here.” His voice was soft, probably to prevent being overheard by the poor fellow in the closet. “My house is down Bluestone Lane, the third one on the left with the lilacs out front.” He pressed the key into Jack’s palm, closing his fingers over them. Jack looked up at him, and his damnable tremors stopped.

“Don’t be long, now,” he said huskily, leaning in to kiss James once more, well and long, so that his eyes were glazed over when Jack pulled away. 

He was still looking tottery as Jack skipped to the door and said over his shoulder, “Else I might be tempted to seek out dearest Teddy and bring on another bout of flu."

"Bloody pirate," he could hear James mutter. Jack smiled to himself and clutched the key. He was fond of lilacs. He was even more fond of the treatment he was sure to get when James came home to find him covered in the fragrant petals. If James hadn't been lying when he professed his disbelief in magic, a night with Jack Sparrow was sure to convince him otherwise - especially a night following a day in which he'd built up a great deal of frustrated energy.

One year after the unusual epidemic of flu, Port Royal's skilled doctors, healers, and midwives were still unable to explain its cause. They did find, however, an increased demand for their services regarding expectant mothers in the ensuing months. Back in town only three weeks after his last visit, Jack merely smiled when Elizabeth exclaimed over the anomoly, and kissed infant Billy on the cheek, and went to call on the commodore.


End file.
